Genet walked the bloodied street. The dead were removed but the squirming, furry scavengers lapped up dried blood and viscera. The wind carried wailed prayers from the alleys but no one dared come out into the lane. The rows of alien machines waited motionless.
At the edge of the Pit he prayed, “God, show me my path.”
In the black there was a spark. He thought it was just a reflection but then it shone again. It was followed by a deep hum. Suddenly, the lines of machines turned away from the Ring to point at the Pit, at Genet.